Hazel
'A woman walked up to you and said, "I'm Barbara Streisand!" And you shrieked, "Oh, my! It's Barbara Streisand!" and fainted.'
You rub you head wearily with the palm of your hand. You have a throbbing headache. Just then you look around. "WHERE AM I?!" you scream, jumping from the ground.
You seem to be in a lovely park. The grass is green and the sky is blue, the clouds are fluffy, the birds are singing, and there is a particularly beautiful waterfall and pool on the other end of this long field of grass.
Suddenly you hear a tiny voice in your ear, "You are in Green Valley."
You turn, startled, to find yourself face to face with the smallest yet loveliest creature you have ever seen.
"Who are you?" you whisper, looking with curiousity and awe at the tiny fairy that flutters inches from your face.
"I'm Hazel," she smiles.
"Hazel," you smile.
Hazel fits her name. Her hair is yellow-brown and flows around her small, tanned body effortlessly; her eyes are light brown, large and soft; her wings are large, pale yellow, and translucent, fluttering fast in the air, looking almost like the wings of a yellow-brown hummingbird.
Hazel blinks at you, "What's your name?"
You sigh and look down, sad of a sudden. "I do not know. I do not think I have a name."
"Of course you do!" says Hazel brightly. "Everyone has a NAME."
"Everyone but me," you say, lifting your head and tilting your chin a little, just to be haughty. But you do not want pity, nor do you expect it from this tiny creature.
And Hazel will not give pity to you. "Then I will name you Autumn," she says loudly.
"Why Autumn?" you ask.
"For your hair," she replies boldly. "For it is the color of autumn: red and gold with tinges of copper. And for your eyes, for they too are the color of autumn: green with specks of yellow-green. And also for your skin, which is fair, touched with red..." She blushes profusely. "Forgive me, I was getting carried away, wasn't I?" She giggles softly, a sound barely heard by even your sharp elf-ears.
"Yes, you were," you laugh. "But tell me, Hazel, how do my hair, eyes, and skin look like Autumn?"
"Your hair, as the trees, your eyes, as the grass and some trees, and your skin, as the air..." Suddenly she laughs, "You don't have any mercy, do you? You just want me to be poetic? Don't you, don't you?"
You laugh as well, "No, but thank you for your poetic outburst. Now I understand... I think... Well, I will be Autumn, if it pleases you."
"It does," she replies. "Now come. I want to show the others what I have caught..." She flutters away, leaving a trail of yellow-brown glitter behind her.
